


Milestone

by InhoePublishing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InhoePublishing/pseuds/InhoePublishing
Summary: An expanded version of the scene between Kirk and McCoy on Enterprise. Birthdays? Who needs them?





	

Kirk was tired. Not the kind of tired that sat in his muscles from too much action, but a bone-weary exhaustion that settled in every cell of his body. Even his mind was tired. But he pushed all that aside as he tilted his head back and announced himself to the Teenaxi Council.

“My name is James Tiberius Kirk of the United Federation of Planets.” He began as he had dozens of times before on unknown planets to unknown species. Only this time he tried to sound energized and authoritative, as if this weren’t all becoming predictable. He remembered the first time he’d stepped foot on an undiscovered planet, the excitement and thrill of being introduced to an alien species, of not knowing what would happen next. His nerves used to sing with that thrill, his body poised and ready. Now it all felt routine.

“What’s wrong with it?”

The voice boomed from above high above in the dark arena, interrupting Kirk’s introduction and mentally disrupting him.  

“Excuse me?” He had never met a Teenaxi. They were a notoriously isolated species, keeping to their caves dug into the solid surface. The only time they ventured out, it seemed, was to antagonize the Fobonane species. The war had been going on for over a decade, but the rivalry between the two species went back as long as any Teenaxi could recall.

“Why don’t they want it?”

He closed his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts. If there was one thing he had learned in the past three years it was that diplomatic missions worked better if he kept the dignitaries on track. “This was once a piece of an ancient weapon. Now they offer it as a symbol of peace.”

“Where did they get it?”

The ‘gift’ in his hands was surprisingly light and it was easy to forget it was there at all. “They tell me they acquired it a long time ago.”

“So they stole it!”

“No … well ….” He took a breath, his fingers tightening on the box.

“You are not familiar with Fobonese, like we.”

“For a Fobonane to give a powerful weapon as a gift is a great honor.”

“They are untrustworthy thieves and murders.”

“I don’t think—” He couldn’t see anything in the blackness above him, but the voice sounded fierce and uncompromising.

“They want to cut us into pieces and roast us in the fire …”

“I don’t think that’s true—”

“…and _eat_ us!”

Silence fell in the darkness.

“ _What_?” He said incredulously.

A cry of rage echoed in the arena. The next instant, the Teenaxi was barreling down the sleek walls. Kirk reacted out of instinct, fists up, body tense, backing up as the Teenaxi landed just a few meters from him.

What the hell?

It was small, despite its fierce physique. He tilted his head and stared at it. How could such a loud voice come from such a small creature? His fists relaxed.

It moved with lightning speed, launching itself onto the back of Kirk’s neck.

*** * * ***

One of the Teenaxi had bitten his leg and he limped as he walked down the corridor to his quarters.

“Captain, did you manage to broker a treaty with the Teenaxi council?” Spock asked, suddenly appearing behind him.

“Let’s just say I came up short.”

He heard the whirl of McCoy’s scanner and turned. He had been hoping to avoid the doctor.

“Jim, you look like crap,” McCoy said in an all-too- pleaseding tone that said ‘I told you so.’

“Thank you, Bones.” He couldn’t even manage to sound sarcastic. The artifact, no longer the prized possession it had been an hour ago, weighed like a useless chuck of metal in the protective bag. He craned his neck to see Spock and was rewarded with a sharp pull in his neck muscles. Shit. “Log this into the archives.” He tossed the artifact to Spock, not even caring if the Vulcan caught it or not. What a wasted trip.

“You’ve got that little vein sticking out on your temple,” McCoy continued. “You okay?”

“Never better. Just another day in space.” And that was the problem, he decided as he entered the turbo lift. Everything was beginning to feel routine and standard. Even being attacked had done nothing but aggravate him. The unpredictable had suddenly become predictable.

_“Doctor McCoy to Sickbay.”_

McCoy veered off suddenly as Kirk kept walking toward the turbo lift. Spock smoothly moved into step at his left side. “Would you like to reconvene with the council, Captain?”

“I would not.”

“Perhaps a requisite time for both parties to wait for negotiations to resume will alter the Teenax position.”

“I highly doubt it.” The turbo lift doors opened and Kirk stepped in, leaving Spock to stand outside. “Just catalog that thing and let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The short ride in the lift left him more deflated. He blindly walked to his quarters, the corridors blending into a scene of fog. Without ceremony, he headed straight to the shower, eager to get the smell of the Teenaxi off him.

He was naked when he exited the bathroom into his sleeping area. Though his quarters were dimly lit – he had a headache – the presence of someone in his living area was clearly seen. His muscles tensed for a moment before he recognized the figure.

“Make yourself at home, Bones,” he said dully, moving to his dresser. It wasn’t uncommon for McCoy to find his way into Kirk’s quarters at the end of a long day or difficult mission. The doctor typically had a bottle of fine liquor in his hand.

“I don’t want a drink,” he said as he grabbed a pair of clean briefs and pulled them on.

“Good,” McCoy said standing. “I don’t have one.”

Kirk could see from the corner of his eye that McCoy carried only his medical kit. He inwardly groaned. “I was on my way to Sickbay.”

“Uh-ha.”

Eight years together and McCoy knew him too well. The doctor had entered his sleeping area without an invitation, pressing into his personal space.

“What is that?” McCoy asked, cocking his head in order to see Kirk’s right calf. “Is that a bite?”

It was. The Teenaxi, though small in stature, had sharp teeth and a hard bite.

“Jesus, Jim, do you have any idea what kind of bacteria these creatures can have?”

Kirk paused as he reached for a pair of pants. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No, damnit!” His brows were drawn tightly together. He slammed his medical kit onto the bed. “Sit.”

For a brief moment, he thought about arguing. His head was pounding and the sonic shower had only just loosened his stiff muscles, but his calf was throbbing despite his bravado and he was really too damned tired to argue. Releasing a pent-up breath, he complied, swinging his injured leg onto the bed for McCoy to examine.

McCoy gently took the leg and turned it slightly to get a better look at the bite. “You’re lucky I make house calls,” he said and opened his medical kit.

His right leg was bent, the other dangled off the bed. He stared past McCoy to the grey colored wall beyond. And that’s when it hit him: it didn’t feel like home anymore. When did he stop adding artifacts and antiques to his quarters? Those little prizes he’d bring back from missions and put on display? He looked around, remembering his apartment in San Francisco, the pleasure he’d gotten filling it with trinkets. He’d had none of that growing up. His mother had put a lot of his father’s things away. As soon as he left the farm, he had only that which he could carry. Nothing more.

A sharp pain in his calf drew an unexpected hiss.

McCoy stopped what he was doing and looked at him with a sharp, clinical gaze. An instant later his friend’s expression changed. “That’s what you get for getting bit.”

“Are you done?”

He loaded up a hypo. “You know the last time you got bit your whole damn arm swelled up.”

“Mmm.”  An Antarian boar. He’d raised his arm to keep it from ripping his throat open. The bite hadn’t been bad, but the saliva had caused an infection that had taken Bones over a week to control.

McCoy drove the hypo home into his bicep. He didn’t even want to know what was in it. Looking at his calf, he could see a bio film covering the wound. He hadn’t noticed it had stopped throbbing. In one smooth motion, he swung off the bed and went to his closet to retrieve a fresh uniform. He was still limping.

McCoy took his time packing up his medical kit. As Kirk struggled into his gold tunic, he felt his back crack. By the time he’d pulled his head through and arranged his uniform, McCoy had directed his full attention to him.

“You look tired. Are you sleeping okay, Jim?”

“Fine.” He ran a hand quickly through his hair. “We meeting for drinks later?”

McCoy eyed him. “The crew are tired, Jim. They need a rest. So do you. It’s been nine months since our last leave. We’ve had back-to-back missions without a break.”

“We’re scheduled for Yorktown.” He headed toward the door, hoping to end the conversation. “We’ll get a long delay there while we’re fitted for upgrades and restock provisions.”

McCoy was at his side as he entered the corridor. “That’s what you said the last two times we were scheduled for a delay.”

“I don’t pick the missions, Bones. We go where we’re told.” The truth was he wasn’t any more pleased about the delays than Bones was, but _Enterprise_ was the only ship this far out not already engaged. They’d set a few records in Starfleet and the Federation in the past three years, and they’d more than earned some time off.

“You’ve got some pull in this, Jim. You’re the captain.”

It was something Bones had been fond of reminding him these past three months. He stopped at the turbo lift and turned to McCoy. He had to get to the bridge and file a report to Starfleet. “We’ll hit Yorktown in forty-eight hours.”

McCoy snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He stepped into the turbo lift, leaving McCoy behind.

*** * * ***

McCoy glanced at the chronometer and cursed. He was late. CMO meant he was rarely on time for anything. But he’d wanted to be on time tonight because Jim had a worse track record in keeping appointments than he did and they’d set time aside for drinks before – many times – and it hadn’t worked out. Something always got in the way. Tonight it was Keenser and his damn cold.

The bottle of whiskey was securely in his hand as he sailed through the doors of the officer’s lounge. It was Jim’s favorite hideout, which wasn’t much of a hideout given it was open to every officer on the ship. Except tonight it was thankfully empty, save for Jim.

“Sorry I’m late. Keenser has some kind of cold and is sneezing acid green goo and Scotty’s afraid he’ll sneeze on the warp core and kill us all.” Jim had kept the lights down and sat at the bar nursing … what the hell? “Good god man, what are you drinking?”

Jim’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m pretty sure it’s the saurian brandy we picked up last month on Thasus.”

“My god man.” He picked up the carafe and cautiously sniffed. “Are you _trying_ to go blind?” Jim’s system didn’t handle that particular liquor very well. The fact that he was drinking it told McCoy just how bad his friend was doing, which was another reason he’d wanted to be here on time. He’d known something was off in Jim’s quarters, had been off for weeks.

“That stuff’s _illegal_.” And for good reason. “I’ve got something better,” he said, holding up his prize. The whiskey had been bottled on Earth and was valuable this far out. “I found this in Chekov’s locker.”

Jim finally raised his head, showing the first signs of interest, and reached for the bottle. McCoy retrieved a set of clean glasses.

“That’s so weird. I always thought he’d be a vodka man. Right.”

They’d both said vodka at the same time. He set the glasses down and opened the bottle. “Anyway, I wanted something appropriate for your birthday.”

“I don’t care about that, Bones,” Jim said dismissively.

“I know.” They’d never celebrated Jim’s birthday, but that didn’t keep McCoy from trying.

He poured two glasses and raised one for a toast. “To friends, and a thick head of hair.”

They took their first taste of the whiskey, the bite hitting their tongue before blazing a trail down their throats.

“Oh, lordy that’s good.” He was a bourbon man, but this was downright sinful. As the liquor settled in his stomach, he felt his muscles loosen and leaned forward over the bar, watching his friend. “How’s your leg?”

“Its fine, Bones.” Jim sounded tired as he took another mouthful of liquor. He was drinking more tonight than usual. Always diligent, Jim kept his celebrating to shore leaves and rarely took more than one drink on the ship, despite the fact that he could hold his liquor better than an Irishman.

“Are you going to call your mom?”

It was always a sensitive subject and McCoy knew better than to broach the subject more than once a year. During their academy days, Jim had outright refused, harboring a bitterness McCoy had always tried to understand. His own parents had been supportive, his childhood uneventful, a typical human living on Earth. As close as he and Jim were, there were some subjects that Jim had kept closed – and Winona Kirk was one of them. Normally, McCoy would try not to interfere, but in the past four years, Winona had reached out to him when Jim had been seriously injured. Those conversations had been very specific, a physician relaying information to a parent about their child. More recently, Winona had contacted him about how Jim was doing, and those conversations were awkward as hell.

“Yes, of course I’ll call her … on the day,” Jim said.

On the day. Not, on my birthday. There was no celebration in the Kirk family on the day Jim was born. McCoy took another sip, watching his friend. Jim hated his birthday, but this year seemed different. Was it that Jim was getting older?

“Another year,” Jim said quietly. He wouldn’t look up. The stars sped past the small windows, a sharp contrast to the stillness in the room.

“Yeah, that’s how it works.”

“A year older than he got to be.”

So that’s what this is about, he thought. Jim had finally surpassed his father in years. Had Jim ever thought he’d make it this far? Captain of a Starship on the most celebrated mission in the Federation? On his way to becoming a legend? For an instant, McCoy saw the battered face of a young twenty-two year-old, strapping himself into the shuttle and looking ridiculously optimistic despite the bruises. Maybe that was because he had no expectations. McCoy narrowed his gaze on his friend.

“He joined Starfleet because he believed in it,” Jim said softly. “I joined on a dare.”

“You joined so you could live up to him.” McCoy knew when to pull his punches and when not to. He didn’t like this melancholy in his friend. It was rare and always dangerous. “You spent all your time trying to be George Kirk, and now you’re wondering what it’s like to be you.”

Jim looked up at him and he braced himself for an argument, but the expression on Jim’s face was not one of anger or resentment, but one of bewilderment, as if it had never occurred to him that he’d be just Jim Kirk. For a moment they just looked at each other. Jim’s blue eyes appeared darker in the dimming light and he looked a little worn … exposed. And then, in a purely Jim Kirk moment, he smiled.

“Practicing your psychology, Bones?”

The glass in his hands was still and cold. With deliberate precision, he set it down, not taking his eyes off Jim. He knew this game and he wasn’t going to play. “I’m worried about you.”

Jim groaned and pushed away from the bar. “It’s just a birthday, Bones. I’ll survive.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. There’s something going on. What’s been eating at you?”

“Nothing.”

McCoy kept him pinned with a penetrating gaze. He knew bullshit when he smelled it.

“Too many missions,” Jim supplied lightly.

“Try again.”

“You know you’re right, my leg does hurt.” Jim’s communicator beeped and he eagerly opened it. “Kirk here.”

It was Sulu. “Captain, we’re coming up on Yorktown.”

“On my way.” Jim looked at McCoy, all evidence of his earlier melancholy and fatigue erased. “Duty calls.”

“You do know we’re not done with this conversation?”

Jim stood just outside the bar, looking as if they’d never had a conversation, as if his birthday and the death of his father didn’t exist in this new space. “I’ll let you buy me a drink on the Yorktown.”

That was the thing with Jim; he had an amazing ability to compartmentalize things. But McCoy knew his friend too well. He knew this wasn’t over. There was something eating at his friend, something that a drink wasn’t going to make disappear.

 

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a little more from this scene in the movie, so I created my own. Merry Christmas.


End file.
